Whoopi Goldberg became a grandmother at 34 and is now a great-grandmother. Anna Wintour, editor-in-chief of “Vogue” magazine, has three grandchildren. Meryl Streep became a grandmother in 2019 (Insider). And, yes, now I am one too. What an extraordinary club! But what to be called? Vanity suggests something cute and sassy like Mimi or Yaya or Gigi, but Grandma, oh that has so many connotations that might suggest baking or needlepoint, or at least level-headedness, right? Might I still be in a nightclub at midnight or be dashing around the south of France or even, dare I say, unsure about my future with a moniker like Nana? Didn’t we all think those matriarchs, a bit round in the middle, coiffed grey hair into a bun, always in an apron, knew their way around a kitchen, and knew for certain what their tomorrow would bring? Seriously, those names and every association with them is weighty. How can I step into those shoes and feel they fit while there is so much I am still learning about life? Grandmother? Feels tight.

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